


The warden and the spirit

by Lost_gallifrey



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Armor Kink, Cole has horrible ideas, M/M, Oblivious Cullen Rutherford, Public Sex, Sera being rude, Sexually frustrated Thom Rainier, Varric is a great wingman, Vivienne has had enough of this crap, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6733252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_gallifrey/pseuds/Lost_gallifrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since Blackwall left to take the grey, and two years since he's seen Cole. All he wants is to make their first night back together one to remember, but everyone seems to have different ideas. As the world conspires to force Thom into a life of celibacy, Cole comes up with a very bad idea.<br/>Angry nobles, humiliated Wardens. Vivienne never asked for any of this.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	The warden and the spirit

**Author's Note:**

> This would be a sequel to 'The victim and the murderer', and, as promised, takes place during Trespasser. :)

Warden Rainier paused at the gates of the Winter Palace and honestly considered turning away and running for the nearest Deep Roads access. Deepstalkers and darkspawn weren't half as terrifying as the thought of marching through that shining, gilded archway. 

A guard, resplendent in his formal armor, snapped a crisp salute as Thom approached. When the Warden hesitated, the guard remained at attention, looking more and more awkward by the second. 

Muttering an apology, Thom hurried past. No need to make the man's day more difficult because of his own insecurities. Just because he was nervous enough to make the calling seem like a welcome alternative didn't mean he needed to dawdle in the road like a farm-lad on their first visit to the city.

Two years. _Two years!_ It seemed like a lifetime ago when disgraced, former-warden Blackwall had kissed Cole goodbye and walked away to take back the gray, and with it, his own name. 

_Cole_.....Thoughts of the odd, confounding spirit had gotten Thom through some long, lonely nights, as had some exceptionally vivid dreams that usually resulted in an early morning trip to the laundry to scrub the stains from his bedding. Beyond the obvious, physical loss, Thom found he missed the lad with an ache that was almost embarrassing. He was worse than some pining maid.

There had been letters. Typically bizarre, stream-of-consciousness rambling, carefully written out in Cole's shaky scrawl, interspersed with oddly patterned drawings that might have been places or people and mostly just made Thom's head ache to look at. He adored them, despite their strangeness, and kept them tucked carefully into a pocket of his pack.

Thom's return letters were, in his opinion, embarrassingly mundane, full of daily life musings about rations and armor. The stupid antics of some of the recruits, and the stubbornness of the horse he had been assigned. Not one word about how much he missed Cole, and certainly nothing about how much he missed his long legs and willing mouth.

Once, a particularly bedraggled raven had broken a worrying dry-spell in communication by delivering a careful transcript of a report by someone called 'Charter' that documented Cole's efforts to find and rescue villagers displaced by a devastating avalanche. Tucked into the pages was a delicately lined drawing of Cole, asleep with his head pillowed on his forearm and a shaggy dog curled up in his lap. The only explanation for the picture was a small note on the back that read: 'You're welcome! ~L. Harding'

Not that he would admit it to his fellow wardens, or, Maker forbid, the gossiping recruits, but Thom kept that simple picture folded into the breast of his jerkin, safe behind his gleaming silver breastplate. 

Each time he carefully unfolded the now slightly tattered sheet, Thom wondered when the letters would stop. He wouldn't blame Cole for finding someone else, he was young after all....or at least his human body was, and two years was a long time. It wouldn't be unusual for some kind young scout or villager to catch his eye....someone who would treat him well and not get called up to go die in a cave at a moment's notice.

Varric was in the main courtyard, holding court with a dour looking seneschal and a trio of giggling young women who were all clutching copies of his latest book. The dwarf grinned and waved jauntily, which was a heartening greeting. Surely Varric wouldn't be so cheerful if Cole was about to broadside Rainier with news that was going to make him long for a darkspawn's sword.

In his last letter, Thom had told Cole that (if the lad wanted) he would meet him at the tavern closest to the palace. The response was characteristically nonsensical, including a drawing that might have been an attempt at erotica, but looked a bit more like the result of eating toadstools that were best left alone. 

The tavern was easy enough to find, being the hub of a great deal of activity focused around a massive dragon skull sitting outside. As Thom approached, he could see Cassandra bullying the Bull's Chargers, some of whom looked like they were on the drunken brink of outright mutiny. 

Whatever was going on, Thom hardly noticed, his attention drawn to an achingly familiar figure sitting on a stack of barrels and watching the chaos with obvious curiosity. Honestly the Chargers could be planning on blowing the skull into the fade with a boatload of gaatlok for all he knew, he probably wouldn't even notice. 

The hat was the same, as ridiculous as it was distinctive. Shaggy hair still hung to the collar of his patched tunic. Pavus had repeatedly tried to coerce Cole into letting him attempt to tame the mess with some fashionable cut, but for some reason, Thom was glad he'd never succeeded.

One of Thom's fears was that, without someone to constantly remind him, Cole would abandon all the good lessons he had been taught about regular sleep and meals. He'd half expected to be greeted by some hollow-eyed, half-starved waif. Instead it actually looked like the lad had put a bit of meat on his long bones, he was still lean, but he didn't look like the Inquisitor had just rescued him from a famine.

Walking up to where Cole was idly swinging his legs against a barrel was quite possibly more intimidating than walking up to the gallows in Val Royeaux. 

“Hello, lad.” Thom muttered in what had to be the lamest greeting he could have chosen. Bravely moving close enough that his armored thighs almost bumped against Cole's knees, he tried again. “I've missed you.”

“Yes.” Cole said brightly, face lighting up as he turned his head to look up at Thom. “I missed you too! Thom....” he said slowly, rolling the name in his mouth as though he was tasting it. “Thoooom, it fits now. It sounds the same, but softer, safe, it slides into the old scars and makes them whole.”

“I'm glad you think so.” Thom was aware that he was grinning like a loon, in a manner that absolutely did not benefit the dignity of a Warden. Cole was staring at him in that wide-eyed, unblinking way that always made it seem like he was looking _through_ rather than at. “Well?”

“You're still you.” There was such profound relief in Cole's voice that Thom was a bit stunned. “I tried to find you in the words, but it's harder now and all I could see was writing.”

“Of course I'm still me...” Thom began, then was immediately cut off by the sudden intrusion of Cole's tongue into his mouth. 

It would be utterly rude to ignore such an open, welcoming invitation, especially with the way Cole was insistently tugging Thom closer by the front of his armor. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to explain, but they all flitted out of Thom's head as Cole bit aggressively at his mouth and wound long fingers into the sides of his beard.

Pouring two years of thwarted desire into the act, Thom grabbed roughly at Cole, knocking his hat off in the process as he lost himself in the moment. Sometime after Thom had gotten a fistful of Cole's ragged hair and was busily sucking on his tongue, he became aware of the fact that the busy inn had gone mostly quiet. In fact, the silence was only broken by someone making increasingly noisy gagging noises behind them.

Cassandra was staring at them, a red flush rising on her cheeks while the rest of the Chargers observed with expressions ranging from blandly interested to enthusiastic. Krem even let go of the skull long enough to give Thom an exaggerated thumbs-up.

Seated at a table in the open dining room, Sera gave another melodramatic dry heave. “Ain't gonna eat for days now, not after watching you suck Creepy's face off.”

“My face is still here...” Cole poked himself in the cheek as if to confirm it to himself.

“Shut it, you!” Sera snapped with slightly less vitriol than usual. Despite her protests, she was quick to fork another mouthful of food into her mouth, making a rude gesture at them with her free hand. “C'mon, Beardy, get some of this in your face before Bull eats it all.”

As much as Thom wanted to get Cole somewhere private and show him exactly how much he'd missed him, it was nice to see old friends again.

___________________________________________________________________________

“So the kitchen girls got in on it, right? Cause' he was always pawing at them,” Sera grinned proudly around a mouthful of pie. “We put powdered hot stuff all up in his smalls, the grabby little shite walked like a bogfisher for a week.”

“That's our Sera,” Dorian raised his glass in a slightly shaky toast. “Fighting injustice one pair of small-clothes at a time!”

Lavellan was still a few days journey from the Winter Palace and Dorian was lamenting his absence by working his way through a keg of what smelled like exceptionally cheap brandy. If someone didn't cut him off soon, the Inquisitor was going to think he was tumbling a distillery rather than a mage.

“Frigging right!!” Sera enthused, showering half the table with crumbs.

Cole tucked himself in as close to Thom as he could, a trusting intimacy that Thom thought was well worth occasionally getting jabbed in the face with a hat brim. 

Beneath the table, Thom worked his thumb in circles on Cole's hip. Occasionally he let his fingers drift over a little, just enough to make Cole shiver, but not often enough to give them away. That said, Cullen was sitting next to them and the Warden suspected he would have to bend Cole over the table before the Commander noticed what was going on.

Cassandra and Iron Bull had long since made utterly insincere excuses and retired to their room, a situation Thom was getting more jealous of by the moment. It wasn't that Pavus' increasingly dramatic monologues about Tevinter politics were _boring_ , in fact, due to the amount he had drunk they were borderline hilarious, but he wanted to escape with Cole before he had to hear about slave rebellions again.

It was Varric who came through as an unexpected savior. “You look tired, Hero,” he said with a benevolent smile that was bordering on a smirk. “Maybe you should show him his room, kid.”

Cole bolted to his feet with such enthusiasm that he came close to tipping the bench over, causing Sera to burst into gales of laughter that were only slightly muted when Dorian kicked her chair hard enough to dump her on the floor.

“I'm sure Warden Rainier can find his own room if you want to play, Cole.” Cullen said obliviously, waving a deck of wicked grace cards.

“Curly....” Varric sighed, “do you and I need to have a talk about the birds and the bees?”

“....Bees!” Sera wheezed from the floor, face as red as a tomato.

“I'm not a bird or a bee...” Cole muttered, confused as Thom took his hand and led him toward the stairs with as much dignity as he could scrape together. 

“Maker, I missed you.” Thom growled as he took advantage of the stairwell to push Cole up against the wall and suck at the thin skin of his neck until a bruise bloomed under his tongue. How had he lived for two years without doing this, he'd been daft to leave. 

“No,” Cole murmured, gasping as Thom's wandering hands dug into the curve of his arse. “You had to go so you could become more you, like when Varric helped me with the Templar.”

A serving girl coming down the stairs squeaked and blushed at the sight of them before disappearing into the common room with a giggle. 

“She wants Sera to kiss under her skirts again,” Cole said in the dreamy, matter-of-fact way he had when revealing people's intimate secrets. What did it say about Thom that he'd missed even those inappropriate interludes.

“Room. Now.” Thom growled. He was a bit embarrassed by the force of his desire. He'd been determined to talk this through with Cole before progressing, make sure the lad understood that he was more than a convenient, warm body, and what the responsibility of being a Warden could mean to them both.

“I don't want to talk now.” Cole said petulantly, crowding up behind Thom as the Warden fumbled with the door-latch, sliding long arms to wrap around his stomach. “I waited and waited, and I don't want to anymore.”

Talking had utterly lost it's appeal, especially considering that Thom would much rather put his mouth to other uses. Cole's hands were working their way inexorably south, and Thom's hands were shaking by the time he finally got the door open and they stumbled loudly into the room.

Thom Rainier had seen a lot of terrifying things both during his service with the Inquisition and his training with the Wardens. Dragons howling overhead, holes in the sky, shrieking mobs of darkspawn....none of them left him quite as speechless as the sight of Iron Bull and Cassandra rather vigorously occupying the bed he had been hoping to tumble Cole into. 

For a horrible, shocked moment, Thom thought perhaps this had been some elaborate joke....either that or Cole had accidentally led them to the wrong room. But there was a bunch of familiar gear tossed haphazardly in the corner beside a second bed; a ragged pack and Cole's signature battle-gear, and there was no way Cassandra's 'scalded-cat' noise of indignant shock was faked. 

“Hello, The Iron Bull and Cassandra.” Cole said cheerfully, apparently unfazed by the sight of the huge qunari on his knees in front of a very red-faced Seeker. 

“Uuh, hi kid.” Bull shifted and Thom closed his eyes as he got a rather intimate view of the disturbingly large phallus that Cassandra had been enthusiastically fucking him with. “Sorry, I know I said you could have this room....but Krem and Maryden took the other one.”

“Oh, good. Every time she sang, his face was behind the words.”

“Yeah...so...uhh.” Bull shifted again, winced a little and shrugged one broad, gray shoulder. “Either close the door or...” he gestured at the free bed.

Cole moved forward so eagerly that Thom had to grab the back of his shirt as Cassandra snapped, “No! Get out!” in a voice that brooked absolutely no argument or possibility of compromise. It was a voice that had rebuilt the Seekers of Truth and had brought the last straying members of the order to heel, Thom hardly realized he'd backed into the hallway before he was closing the door with cautious respect.

Long face set into an expression that was dangerously close to a pout, Cole huffed out an irritated breath. Thom wasn't sure if he was more frustrated by Iron Bull and Cassandra commandeering his room or disappointed that he had been denied the dubious pleasure of sharing in their activities.

“Ahh, not to worry, lad.” Thom clapped Cole on the shoulder and tried to tamp down his own disappointment. “I'm sure this place has a few spare rooms, or, at the very least, we can go relieve Cullen of all his money. The man still cannot play a decent game of wicked grace.”

___________________________________________________________________________

“Where are we going?” Thom asked, bemused as Cole tightened his fingers around the Warden's hand and dragged him further into the network of balconies and garden paths around the main palace. A few guards had already given them curious stares, but the distinctive emblem of the Grey Wardens had prevented them from asking too many questions.

As was to be expected, given the amount of visiting nobles from across Thedas, there wasn't so much as a spare broom closet in any of the taverns and inns they had visited. 

Thom took some small consolation in winning every coin Cullen owned, down to the last copper. That at least provided some amusement until Sera threw a bowl of stew at a particularly pompous little diplomat and got them all evicted from the common room.

The stables were a logical second choice. It wasn't as if Thom didn't have some truly wonderful memories of pressing Cole down into the soft, clean straw back in Skyhold. Unfortunately they weren't the only ones to notice the value of a tryst in such a private locale. From the graphic noises, someone called 'Tessa' was doing something rather remarkable with her tongue to a very appreciative woman with a low, smoky voice. There was also the possibility that Andraste and the Maker were somehow involved, given the amount their names were cried out in ways that would make a chantry sister blush.

With a regretful sigh, Thom had given up and resigned himself to sleeping on one of the numerous garden benches. It certainly wasn't the worst place he'd ever had to sleep, and if Cole would be willing to share the space it would be a comfortable, if not disappointingly chaste night. But as he turned towards the central courtyard, Cole had grabbed him by the hand and started tugging him urgently in the complete opposite direction. 

“Are we supposed to be back here?” Thom said mildly as Cole knelt to poke determinedly at the lock on an ornate gate, giving him a perfect opportunity to admire the lean angles of his back. “Wherever 'here' is...”

“Lavellan liked dropping the coins in the water, he didn't know Dorian took one back out. It lives in his pocket now.” Cole blinked slowly as he looked around the garden he'd led them too. “I liked the music, but I couldn't help here. I wanted to come back after, but Lavellan took Dorian instead.”

“Lad, did we just break into the Empress' private garden?” Thom was sure he recognized the delicate little fountain below the vine-covered trellis.

“Yes?” Cole shifted nervously, long fingers tugging at the stringy ends of his shirtsleeves as he caught some of Thom's unease. “Is that bad?”

It was hard to read Cole's expression under the down tilted brim of his hat, but the question was a familiar one. Thom had first heard it in that breathy voice in the icy depths of a collapsed mine as Cole tried to persuade him into the sleeping furs by using Cassandra's ridiculously obvious advice. It had become a regular start to some of their most memorable sessions, and hearing it again made Thom ache with renewed arousal.

“Very,” Thom answered, putting a growl into his words and watching Cole shiver in anticipation. Yes, he'd definitely read that right.

Stepping close enough to tug that ridiculous hat off, Thom caught Cole's sharp chin in one calloused hand, running his thumb over the curve of his bottom lip. When he kissed him it was like coming home. Cole gasped against his mouth, and Thom felt like all his fears, insecurities and worries had been for nothing. For whatever reason, this confounding creature still wanted him despite the new scars and the heavier streaks of gray in his hair and beard.

“Yes, you. Always.” Cole whimpered as Thom worked his hands up under the hem of his shirt, scraping his fingernails over the twitching muscles on his stomach. “I tried when you weren't there, but it was just fingers and aching. Pretending and pressing in, but I wanted _you!_ ”

Thom groaned at the image that formed in his mind, roughly yanking Cole's shirt off and deciding he really didn't care who's garden they were in. If the Empress herself wanted to watch him run appreciative hands over the broad bones of Cole's shoulders before bending to take a pebbled nipple into his mouth, then she was welcome to.

As Thom started to tug at the buckles of his armor he was surprised when Cole grabbed at his wrist.

“Don't. Please.” The blush that bloomed across Cole's pale cheeks kept going until he was red to the tips of his ears and flushed all down his chest. His free hand spread out over the gleaming silverite breastplate, fingers sliding over the slick metal. “I like how it feels.”

With a smirk, Thom wondered what dirty little fantasies Cole had thought up that involved him in full armor. He would have asked if he hadn't been utterly distracted by Cole slithering to his knees and stroking his hardening cock through the rough weave of his trousers.

At one point the arousing sight of Cole on his knees, cheeks flushed as he mouthed at the heavy outline of his cock would have filled Thom with shame at his filthy, corrupting influence. Now there was just an almost embarrassingly soppy sense of adoration, and a vague sense of wonder that of all the far more deserving men in the Inquisition, Cole had chosen him. Not only forgiving him for his crimes, but welcoming him back after two years spent making amends. 

“Touch yourself, lad.” Thom reminded roughly, spreading his hand out over Cole's ragged hair and digging his fingers into the fine strands. 

Cole gasped, a sharp, shocked sound as he obediently pressed long fingers to the front of his leathers, shuddering under even the gentlest of touches. The sight of his open, pink mouth was too much and Thom fumbled with the lacing on his breeches, groaning as the cool night air brushed against swollen flesh and was immediately replaced with the warmth of Cole's mouth. 

Thom wound his fingers tighter in Cole's hair, trusting that the spirit wouldn't be shy about letting him know if he was being too rough. He rolled his hips lazily forward, shuddering as Cole hummed appreciatively, tongue working eagerly along the underside of his cock. 

It took every scrap of restraint Thom possessed to not simply thrust into that welcoming heat until he found his end. If he wasn't so familiar with Cole's rather inexhaustible stamina, he would have probably succumbed to temptation, but it wasn't how he wanted to end the evening. 

“Come up here,” Thom said gruffly, stilling Cole's busy mouth and tugging him to his feet. Any doubts the lad might have had about the interruption were quickly forgotten as the Warden worked his hands down the back of those teasingly snug leathers.

Cole moaned when Thom squeezed a handful of tempting flesh, voice rising in a way that was going to get them noticed when he pressed his fingers against his hole. He all but collapsed against the Warden's chest as Thom pushed deeper into him, panting against his neck as his fingers clutched at his armor for balance. 

The needy little noises Cole was making went straight to Thom's cock in a way that two years of frustrated, and increasingly lurid fantasies had not. Spurred on by Thom's ardor, Cole caught his mouth in a fierce, bruising kiss and let himself be turned, bracing his hands against the trellis and shivering in delight as the Warden leaned over him to bite at the taught muscles of his back.

Although he missed the skin on skin contact, Thom was more than willing to indulge Cole his strange whim as he tugged his leathers down his thighs. Honestly, manipulating the complicated buckles and assorted fastenings of his armor was a bit beyond him in the heat of the moment. It was difficult enough to open the little vial of oil that Cole, thank the Maker, had thought to bring.

Andraste only knew how the Herald had the patience to divest Pavus of his ridiculous layers of froof on a regular basis. 

They came together with absolutely none of the stately romance that Varric showcased in his novels. If the slow, sensual, romantic scenes made so many scarves flutter in shock, this kind of desperate, rough need would have caused widespread fainting. 

Thom was so wrapped up in the tight heat of Cole's body, in the way he was gripping the delicate trellis so hard it creaked as he bucked back into each thrust, that he never even heard the interruption until the man had cleared his throat about three times. 

With a sense of impending doom usually reserved for Corypheus, end of the world scenarios, and Lavellan's cooking, Thom turned to look over his shoulder. As his hips stilled, Cole made a plaintive and irritated noise, clearly resenting the pause. 

A rather portly gentleman in a spectacular array of Orlesian finery was flanked by two guards, one of whom Thom was sure he recognized from the inn. 

“This,” the noble announced in scandalized tones, “is her Majesty's private gardens!”

“Oh,” Cole, having finally caught on to what was going on peered at the new arrivals over one bare shoulder. “Hello.”

The horrified noble stomped one elegantly shod foot, which was something Thom wasn't aware that people actually did. It would have been funny, in fact he was sure one of the guard's mouths twitched up ever so slightly, if he hadn't been balls deep in his lover at the time. 

“How did you even get in here?” Beneath the gilt edges of his mask, the noble was turning a rich shade of puce. “Her Majesty, the Empress, said that I might entertain some guests in her _private_ gardens, but you....you've...this. This is unacceptable!”

Tucking himself back into his breeches and using his broad torso to block Cole from view until he'd managed to get his leathers back on, Thom raised his hands in what he hoped was a conciliatory gesture. “I apologize, I...”

“You _apologize_??!” The outraged noble looked about two breaths away from having a fit. 

If he'd thought it wouldn't be a grave disservice to the order, Thom might have attempted to use Grey Warden prerogative to excuse his behavior. But somehow he didn't think it extended to getting spirits who became young men naked in the Empress' private gardens, especially as there were no darkspawn anywhere to be seen.

“Do you know who I am, serah?!”

“You want your name to be important!” Cole said brightly. “Recognized and respected so they'll see you. _Those stuck up bitches will have to look at me now if they want the Empress' favor, they wont dare laugh this time..._ They mocked you before, laughing in secret and using words that cut like knives. I'm sorry.”

Under the edge of his mask, the portly noble's mouth sagged open and he made a choked rasping noise before he started to expand like a spitting frog filling its venom sacs. Sucking in air until the ornate buttons on his embroidered waistcoat were straining against their stitching, he pointed an indignant finger at Cole. “A thieving spy!” He bawled. “Besmirching my good name and defiling her majesties' gardens!”

Thom didn't think it seemed like the time to point out that thieves and spies didn't tend to strip mid-job to bend over for passing Wardens. 

“M'lord,” one of the guards interrupted before the noble could continue his tirade. “These two are with the Inquisition, I recognize them from the night the assassins made an attempt on the Empress' life.”

“The Inquisition!” The noble spat in the tone one might use to describe offal and dung, but he did deflate slightly. Empress Celene's unwavering support of the Inquisition and its leader was well known. “Fine! Just take them away. Flog them, lock them up, just keep them out of my sight,” he made an irritated shooing motion. “Get out, get out!”

___________________________________________________________________________

Lacking a good punitive dungeon within the palace grounds, the guards marched them to the guest wing after letting Cole retrieve his hat and shirt that had been draped over an elegantly pruned shrub.  
In typical Orlesian fashion, the entire proceeding was carried out with commendable subtlety and Thom was glad of the discretion, the absolute last thing he needed was Sera getting wind of this. 

“Is there still flogging?” Cole queried in a disturbingly hopeful tone as the guards ushered them into what passed in Orlais for a plainly decorated room. 

“I don't think so, lad.” Thom buried his smile in his beard, trying not to let his interest show. He'd always assumed that Cole wouldn't be interested in pain, being as the memories he had of the mage-Cole seemed to be comprised entirely of it. But knowing that he was curious?....the thought of putting him over his knee came unbidden into Thom's mind, as did the delicious image of bringing his hand down on pale flesh until it burned with red heat. 

Cole gave Thom a shy look from under the brim of his hat, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the arrival of the absolute last person Thom wanted to see. 

“You may go.” Vivienne dismissed the guards with a serenity that was only betrayed by the frigid disapproval lingering in her voice. 

The older guard who had defended them in the garden gave them a wink as he turned, earning himself a n irritated tut from Vivienne, and quite possibly a few years on latrine duty. As the door closed, Thom resisted the temptation to close his eyes in preparation for what was to come.

“I am coming to the conclusion,” Vivienne finally said after waiting long enough for Cole to start fidgeting nervously with his sleeves. “That the Grey Wardens, in their entirety, are incapable of making sensible choices when it comes to demons.”

“I'm not a demon,” Cole protested wistfully. “Solas said....”

“I care very little what your absent apostate may think,” Vivienne sniffed. “The only thing that concerns me is making sure the Inquisition doesn't suffer any more embarrassments before the Herald arrives. Sera's foul behavior is entirely expected, as are the demon's indiscretions, but for some reason I expected slightly more decorum from you.”

Thom grimaced under Vivienne's withering stare. He felt like one of the recruits when he'd caught them doing something especially stupid. “I apologize Madam, If there is anything I can do to...”

“You? Oh no, dear.” Vivienne waved away the offer like someone shooing away a child. “Don't concern yourself with Lord Auvine. He is an insufferable, pompous little man, but prone to indiscretions of his own that he would rather not become public knowledge. A few words and he with surely forget the whole incident.”

“I would have made him forget, but it doesn't work anymore.” Cole shifted nervously. “I'm more human now,” he reminded Vivienne tentatively. 

“I very much doubt that.” Putting her hands on her hips, Vivienne eyed them with the same expression Master Dennet got when looking at a fractious yearling that might not be worth the time to train. “Since it is clear that neither of you can be trusted to put the interests of the Inquisition above your own indiscreet fumblings, I am forced to insist you remain here.”

Vivienne jabbed a finger at the floor of the room to emphasize her point and sighed with frustration when Cole obediently went to that exact spot. 

“I think she means the room, lad.” Thom said, charmed as Cole turned his unblinking eyes to peering around the space. It wasn't the usual overblown Orlesian tribute to pretentious statuary and gold leaf, but it was comfortable enough and the two low, padded couches certainly held some appeal.

“Oh!” Cole enthused, “you wanted to help! You wanted us secret, silent, safe but sated...”

“I want no such thing, demon.” Vivienne managed to sound bored. “I would prefer it if you were elsewhere, but since you seem determined to play your little charade with Warden Rainier, I would rather you were at least contained.”

With a final, distasteful glance, Vivienne swept out of the room in a glory of impeccable robes and exquisite crystal. The space seemed suddenly duller without the benefit of her slightly terrifying presence.

As the door locked with echoing finality, Thom sank down onto one of the couches and chuckled as he rubbed his fingers over his forehead. In a few seconds, Cole's long fingers took over, soothing away the headache that had been starting to build. 

“I'm not complaining,” Thom rested his hands on Cole's slim hips, “but can we never break into the private gardens of royalty ever again.”

Tilting his head, Cole stared down at Thom's worn face with the tiny ghost of a smile playing across his lips. “Was that bad?”

Thom laughed despite himself. Despite being hauled through the winter palace by guards and reprimanded by the most terrifying member of the Inquisition. “Oh, lad,” he said, tugging at Cole's hips until he was straddling his lap. “Very!”


End file.
